


All It Takes

by LittleSilverBirds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-06
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-03 14:59:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1071807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSilverBirds/pseuds/LittleSilverBirds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>WARNING: Contains heavy implications of self harm, depression and some other triggering stuff.<br/>Brief characters are extremely brief, mainly Dean and Cas here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All It Takes

It had to be that one day, didnt it?  
But then, it had been building for a long while.  
That one day, he had a free period at school. That one day he occupied a bench outside with his feet up on a hand rail. He stuck his headphones on and fisted a hand in his hair trying to make it go away. That one day he broke. As the tears started to fall, and the silent sobs shook his frame, he seriously thought about buying a sharpener from the library. He seriously thought about unscrewing the blade and using it on something much more fragile than a pencil. He seriously thought about screwing up for the second time that week because it hurt so much.  
But Kevin, bless his nerdy little soul, came up after he dried his cheeks with a paper towel from the bathrooms. He mouthed ' _You okay_?' at him, and he slipped off his headphones to hear.  
"I'm fine," he replied, waving him off, "S'nothing you've done. I'm just being stupid."  
Of course, Kevin knew he wasnt fine. He didnt know, however, what he hid up his sleeve. The new ones at least. He didnt know what was going on in his head. He didnt know.  
Two more walked by, came up to him and asked about his wellbeing.  
Each time he replied with a filthy lie. I'm fine and a sheepish smile.  
Eventually, he couldnt stand to sit there any longer. He couldnt sit there with people he cared too much about just around the corner. He stood, throwing his bag up over his shoulder and making for the door, only to be stopped by Charlie on his way inside.  
"Hey," she said, "You okay? You look ill, to be honest."  
He shook his head, another sickly smile. "I'm fine."  
Another lie.  
He moved on before she could ask more questions. Before she could see how much it hurt him to lie. No, he couldnt.  
He kept his head bent in the halls, several people probably told him to watch where he was going but his music turned up too loud drowned them out. He couldnt let them see his reddened eyes, especially the teachers.  
His grades had fallen, his attendance even more so.  
 _Dad can I stay home? I've got a really bad headache._  
 _I feel sick._  
 _I dont feel well._  
All lies and excuses when really he wanted to fucking scream at them _'I'm too fucking depressed to get out of bed and I want to just disappear! Everyone would be better off without me!'_  
Causes for concern had reached his door, his dad had talked to him about it. He'd lied his way through it, saying he was just lazy and he'd fix it.  
How? How could he fix it when he couldnt even tell his dad he was so depressed he was slicing into himself every other night?  
He'd tried to stop. He really had. But pressure kept building and building and he had to let it out, because he couldnt talk to anyone because he felt like no one wanted to listen. Besides, they all have their own problems, he's the one who listens not speaks.  
He's surrounded by people now, exactly where he doesnt want to be. But he's drawn here somehow. He can see his friends, two of whom know he was in a bad place a month ago and are blissfully unaware of his situation now. The rest, well, dont care.  
Except one who he doesnt want to know, ever.  
Because he cares about this kid too much and doesnt want to taint his life with this shit.  
He sits on the same bench every single day with his snack, probably fruit like always, and maybe the Kindle he insists on bringing with him. He loves reading. Adores it, and he's always this cheerful little bundle of joy who never fails to bring a smile to his face even when he's as low as this. He loves making this kid happy, whether its a joke to hear his absurdly enthusiastic laughter, or a drawing of his favourite mythical creatures to bring a smile to his face or maybe a hug.  
He'd never admit it, but he loves those hugs. Its rare he gets any, and he craves human touch and reassurance so much that even the simplest of contact is like a drug, like morphine for him.  
"Hey Cas," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets after tugging off his headphones.  
The kid smiles up at him, and he cant help but smile back, but its weak.  
"Hello," he replies, cheery, "You look tired."  
Observant as always, his bright blue eyes never missed a trick.  
He sighed, glancing up and away from him, then back down to the boy on the bench who was patiently chewing away on apple slices, waiting for a reply. "Yeah," he nodded weakly, "I am tired."  
He was. Tired of lying, tired of hurting people tired of himself.  
Tired.  
"Well," Cas scrunched up the filmy plastic bag his apple slices had been in and threw it in the bin to his left, "If you ever get tired of life, please dont kill yourself."  
That hit home, hard.  
And he felt a tugging in his chest as he promised not to ever try killing himself to the boy on the bench with his army green and silver bag, and so innocent blue eyes.  
He felt a need to tell the truth, tell him everything. He had a nature around him that made you want to do that.  
"Lets see your wrists," he asked out of the blue.  
Panic stabbed him right in the stomach. Of course, this had been their joke last year.  
Last year when he turned up to class with tiny little cuts on his hands from working on the car, from boxing. He'd long since quit the boxing. Still he'd work on the car some days, but only when no one was home. Sometimes.  
"C-can we-" he stammered, looking around. His grin was automatic, a defense reflex. Humor covering up the pure terror, "Are we really gonna do this? Here?"  
"Yes," Cas said, not missing a beat. He still thought this was a game. He didnt know.  
He never wanted him to find out this way, never. He didnt even want him to know in the first place! So he didnt know why he slowly took his slightly trembling hands out of his pockets, and even more slowly and jerkily rolled up his sleeves.  
The new marks were reddened with healing and scabs, sometimes you couldnt get all the blood away. They itched where the dead skin caught on his clothes, he hated long sleeves.  
But dad couldnt find out. Sam even less so, he was a kid, only twelve. He might see it and think it was a healthy way of dealing with things because his big brother did it. No, he never wanted that.  
Cas' eyes widened on his wrist, the left wrist was erratic and patchy, while the right was orderly almost. All in line and evenly placed, even though he was right handed. It seemed contradictory that his left hand made them neater.  
"Dean-" He turned his gaze upward, his blue eyes full of concern when they met his.  
"Please tell me that was your cat."  
He shook his head and rolled the sleeves down, laughing coldly, "I dont have any cats."  
"Why?"  
The inevitable question. And one he couldnt answer in short. It was complicated.  
"Its hard to explain to someone who's never- who doesnt understand."  
Cas shook his head and made room on the bench, motioning for Dean to sit. So he did, dropping his bag between his ankles.  
"I do, though." Cas' words were slow, cautious, "I was...I was clinically depressed for two years. I did it too."  
The guilt hit Dean. The guilt he knew was irrational, but still came. Because he hadnt seen it sooner, because he hadnt been able to help. Because he was stupid, blind, didnt see right through it first off and say ' _Stop, you're so much better than this please stop_.' He wanted to say that because no one had ever said it to him.  
He realised Cas was waiting for him to speak then.  
"I- I-" he stammered again, suddenly awkward, "Because I'm going nowhere. In the end, I'm just another body in another grave and no one's gonna remember me anyway so whats the point?" It all came rushing out now in a wave of words he couldnt stop, "All I can do is draw, and I'm not even that good! My grades have fallen, its affecting my life at home and its taken over everything. Everyone's gonna forget me anyway so whats the point?"  
Cas kept his gaze steady on Dean while he gushed about his problems for the first time to someone. It didnt feel good, but it wasnt bad either. Maybe just the thought that maybe, maybe someone cared. Cas nudged his shoulder with his own and laid a hand on his knee in what Dean assumed was a comforting gesture. It was.  
"Have you ever read The Fault in Our Stars by John Green?" he asked after a minute.  
Dean frowned, "Yeah."  
He was loathe to admit it but yes, he had. It was a good book, and yes he did shed a lonely tear. But that was a year ago. Before all this happened. Before he fucked up for real.  
" _The marks humans leave are too often scars_ ," he said quietly looking down at their thighs touching, as if anyone else was listening hard enough to care, "Maybe its better not to leave a scar. To not be remembered."  
And though Dean gave an utterly mirthless completely halfhearted breath of a laugh and smiled, giving Cas a nudge back, he was really ready to burst out into tears again. Because this kid, this goddamn kid who had a heart of solid gold and had so much love it was pouring out of his ears, had just given him probably the only thing keeping him sane today.  
"Did you just quote The Fault in Our Stars at me?" he said, a smile tugging at his lips.  
Cas looked up now, his face for the first time devoid of a smile and completely serious as he looked Dean in the eye. "I'm serious, though. Isnt it better not to leave a scar?"  
He stood up then, and Dean realised that break was over. He jumped up after him, almost forgetting his bag if he hadnt tripped over it, and jogged after him to catch his shoulder.  
"Hey Cas, I-" he stumbled over his own words trying to get them out, "I- I mean- thanks. I mean it. And I'm sorry. For everything."  
His face was nothing but accepting, understanding and genuine. Dean often wondered how such as him could go about just being nice to people. Especially him, because daily Dean wanted to punch some fucker in the face because he found out they teased Cas and quoted certain passages from the bible at him just because they thought he wasnt right. He probably would've by now but he was too tired all the time.  
"Its okay," he said sincerely in reply.  
"I'm- I'm trying to stop, really I-"  
"Its fine, Dean. I'm going to be late for class, I have to go."  
And with that, he left. Dean stood, people brushing past him in the hallway with the words of John Green and Cas ringing in his ears and a feeling like someone had poked at the ashes of hope in his heart and found that the embers were still glowing. He wanted to tell Cas he'd do anything to make it up to him, but he was gone.  
Benny bumped his shoulder on the way past, "C'mon asshat, we'll be late for class."  
And Dean didnt smile on his way to English, he didnt smile until lunch where he put on the usual mask, because he was mulling over Cas' words, trying to keep them fresh in his mind. Maybe he'd write them down, keep them for when he needed them most.  
That was too much to hope for. But he did know one thing, that he had one insentive to get past this whole shitstorm in his head. That kid on the bench with the Kindle and blue eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily based off an experience of my friend, who has given me permission to use her experience.  
> She had a bad day, and basically this is her and one of her best friends, and the actual things said by each of them. Minus the Dean/Cas stuff, obviously. Every brief character is a person she talked to, well based on.  
> If anyone wants more information go to oestrogen-cookies.tumblr.com, you'll find her there  
> Feedback on this would be lovely also.  
> *I do not own The Fault In Our Stars or John Green, also I do not own Supernatural or any characters associated with it.*


End file.
